


Bring Him Home

by The_Lonely_God



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU: Everyone lives, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, BAMF!Bilbo, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Child!Frodo, F/M, Fluff (eventually), Friendship/Love, Guilt, Hell of a lot of Angst, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Physical Disability, Psychological Trauma, Serious Injuries, Slight Mentions of Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lonely_God/pseuds/The_Lonely_God
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of the Five Armies, everyone survived but at a terrible cost. Bilbo Baggins is banished from Erebor and told never to return again on pain of death. Some years later, Bilbo, now the guardian of little Frodo Baggins, is asked by Gandalf the Grey to travel to Rivendell in order discuss the serious matter of Thorin Oakenshield. However, Bilbo and Frodo never make it to Rivendell as they are kidnapped by a group of rogue Dwarves. Frodo manages to escape and is found by Bofur who takes the young Hobbit back to Erebor, unaware that the child he's carrying is the nephew of Bilbo Baggins himself and in being related to Bilbo, he is also by law banished from Erebor on pain of death...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Him Home

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello everybody! I'm sorry for my hiatus but now I'm back! Good news is the official first chapter of this story is likely to be posted in the very near future and my passion for writing has come back, bigger and better than ever!
> 
> I decided to re-write the prologue simply because reading it over again, I realised how cringeworthy it was...I don't suppose a writer is ever really happy with their work but we still strive for perfection. Or as near as we can get. I actually wanted to make the prologue shorter but...yeah...that didn't quite happen.  
> So, before we begin there are a few things that I would like to add so the story makes sense;
> 
> Firstly, Bilbo is younger when he is dragged on the adventure with his Dwarves. I put him around 40 - ish when the adventure begins so he's still an adult but not quite as old as he is canonically. Below is a timeline so everyone can make sense of it:
> 
> TA 2900 - Bilbo Baggins is born
> 
> TA 2941 - Bilbo's legendary adventure and The Battle of the Five Armies takes place.
> 
> TA 2942 - Primula Brandybuck and Drogo Baggins marry.
> 
> TA 2943 - Frodo Baggins is born.
> 
> TA 2951 - Primula and Drogo die, leaving Frodo orphaned. 
> 
> TA 2953 - Bilbo and Frodo Baggins go on their adventure to Rivendell. 
> 
> Secondly, if you haven't guessed already, everyone survives the BOTFA because I've decided they do. So yeah. Sorry Tolkien. Finally, I accidentally made Frodo the youngest member of the Fellowship and I haven't quite worked out a way to change it...so apologises for that. 
> 
> Anyway, enough of my ramblings, it's time for the story to begin! This is unfortunately unbetaed so apologises for any mistakes. 
> 
> All the best, 
> 
> The_Lonely_God x

**Bring Him Home**

 

_Prologue_

 

With the days of adventuring now long behind them, a few Dwarves found themselves wishing those times of hardship and uncertainty would return. Not that they ever dare say so! Only a fool would; a fool who had no regard for his neck. They didn’t miss the adventure per se, (as adventuring itself is a highly unpleasant business), and these Dwarrows had enough adventuring to last several lifetimes! It was, however, the recognition that they had somehow lost the camaraderie that made them 'The Company of Thorin Oakenshield' to those long and surreal days after the Battle.

Out of blood and sacrifice a bond was supposed to have been forged that day stronger than that of Yavanna and Mahal themselves. Madness was supposed to be banished to the darkness where it belonged and friendship prevail. But Dwarves have never been known for their compassion. Mahal may have forged His children from rock, making them immovable to the world around them but He also them prideful and pride has always been a Dwarf's greatest weakness. 

This had never been more true when a bruised and blood stained Hobbit had barrelled into the healer’s tent, pleading for forgiveness and praying for the lives he had almost sacrificed his to save. All those assembled had looked at him with unseeing eyes, too absorbed in mourning the death of those who were yet to pass. None spoke when guards dragged the Hobbit away, kicking and screaming into the night.

For days after, no one saw hide nor hair of their Burglar but when Thorin Oakenshield finally awoke and demanded to see the Halfling, he somehow reappeared. Finally, from the good Grace of Mahal, the sickness that plagued them before the Battle had lifted from the minds of the company like mist from the sea. They were expecting Thorin to be the same.

Those who knew their leader often wonder why they did something as foolhardy as to anticipate the actions of Thorin Oakenshield – it was, after all, through his ability to do something quite unexpected that earned him the name Oakenshield in the first place.

It became abundantly clear very soon after Mr. Baggins arrived that forgiveness was dead in the mind of the King. It had been smothered in gold and destroyed by the Arkenstone. Even bedridden, the King was an imposing figure as he verbally tore into the very heart of the Hobbit. His voice remained cold, his eyes burned with hate. The silence that filled the tent after Thorin proclaimed Bilbo Baggins to be a sworn traitor of Erebor and to the line of Durin was all-encompassing. No one dared breathe.

Bilbo Baggins then fell to his knees at the King’s bedside and held his hand with such tenderness, it is a wonder the calloused hand felt it at all. He spoke only one word; Thorin, in a voice so pained and weak, it hurt the hearts of those who heard it. Thorin stared down at the Hobbit with a sneer as he declared; “ _As from tomorrow’s dawn you are hereby banished from Erebor and its surrounding lands. If you dare to enter my kingdom, you forfeit your life. No mercy shall be shown be it you enter our lands willingly or not. If you do return know this, Traitor, I myself shall be the one to execute you.”_

Somehow, just over a year since those fateful events that shaped the very history of Middle Earth, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, the company of Dwarves who had become bound by blood of the covenant began to dissipate. The unspoken obligation they had to one another had been slowly eroded by time and guilt, leaving an awful sense of uncertainty in its wake.

Each of the company now had a new life, new roles and responsibilities; a far stricter hierarchy was now in place which effected how some Dwarves treated those who were seen to be below their new status. All those who were Durin’s folk were understandably given titles and roles to suit their status and abilities; Balin was the King’s most trusted advisor, Dwalin was Captain of the Guard and a Commander in the Ereborian Army. Oín was celebrated as one of the most knowledgeable healers in Middle Earth and could often be seen training another apprentice when he wasn’t personally tending to Durin’s Sons. Gloín had become an expert on Erebor’s economic trade and could often be seen – or, more accurately heard – voicing his displeasure at another fantastic architectural design concocted by those who had no concept of a budget.

The Brothers Ri, although not openly acknowledged as ancestors of Durin the Deathless ( _they were from the wrong side of the bed sheets_ – as Nori was fond of saying) were still given respectable positions, positions far higher than they would have received in the Blue Mountains. Dori had gratefully accepted his title as Master of the Guild but also invested his share of the gold in building the finest Tea Rooms in the East. Ori was bestowed the honour of King’s Scribe and also became a Guardian of the Great Library of Erebor where it was his task to chronicle the quest to reclaim Erebor. Finally, although Nori had no official title to speak of, it was quietly acknowledged that all past transgressions committed by the middle Ri brother were absolved and he was beginning to make a name for himself as the Spymaster.

Although the Ur family was given their fair share of the gold and Bombur was even offered a position in the Royal Kitchens, they were not Durin’s folk and it showed. Having decided to settle to a life of retirement, Bifur usually frequented Dori’s tea room and would quietly whittle away in the corner, seemingly contented with his new home. Bofur, however, found himself in between work; occasionally he would mine like his fathers before him but he could never stop whistling or playing his flute when it was to hand.

Bofur knew full well he had a knack for story-telling, even as a young Dwarf he’d make up tales of grand adventures to amuse a Dwarfling Bombur and sometimes, when the mood struck him, he could even turn his hand to his cousin’s profession. So, more often of late, Bofur would sit at the gates of Erebor and watch the hordes of Dwarf wagons pour into the mountain’s open arms.

Every now and then, his keen eyes would spot a wary, travel worn weeling trudge beside their mother, anxious to simply get inside, in the warmth. It was in those moments, the moments when he’d regale their adventure to enthusiastic little ears and when he’d press a new toy into small, grubby hands that Bofur began to feel like himself again. And if a Dwarfling arrived in their new home with a few gold coins tucked into their pocket, it made Bofur’s heart all the lighter.

It was not surprising that thoughts of a dark nature had been rife amongst the company in the months after they reclaimed their home. Some were overwhelmed with the task ahead, some were still haunted by their past and all were burdened with guilt. The one who played on their minds and was the unspoken, yet longing to be discussed topic in every conservation was Bilbo Baggins.

The Hobbit-Burglar stole something precious and irreplaceable. He also stole the Arkenstone and, at the time, each and every Dwarrow believed that the cursed object had been part of their heritage and rightfully theirs. It was, however, a beautiful example of the faults of Dwarves. To this day, that venomous stone – the fowl disease encased in stone shone brighter than a thousand stars above the throne. It was a viciously gaudy reminder of their failings. Even now, that blasted stone poisoned the mind of Thorin Oakenshield and all were helpless to stop it.

In the beginning, no one was quite certain whether the King’s fury had been birthed from the Hobbit’s betrayal or his decision to banish the Halfling. Not even Balin dared risk the King’s wrath in asking. It was in his own state of despair that their Ruler neglected to see the truth that his beloved Sister-Sons were also suffering greatly.

Since their Burglar’s departure, the two young Princes, who were once as close as brothers could be, barely uttered a word to one another. If they met each other’s eyes in a corridor or in a council hearing, they would look away instantaneously.

Fíli, ever the loyal heir, trailed behind his King as the very picture of a proud Ereborian Prince. He wore the finest clothes he had ever worn in his young life, often opting to wear a bold shade of red rather than the traditional blue his Uncle and brother often wore to remind him of his humble origins. Fíli was often seen proudly adorned the gold crown that Thrain had worn as Crown Prince centuries ago. As was expected of him, Fíli often observed his Uncle’s work with a keen analytic eye but never voiced his own mind as he once did so freely.

Kíli stalked the halls of his ancestors’ home, when he wasn’t bound to his duties as Erebor’s youngest Prince, determined to know every inch of the home he had sacrificed so much for. There was always a look of determination on his youthful face but the glint of awe he once had in his eyes slowly began die the more he roamed. This Erebor scarcely lived up to the tales of grandeur and greatness his Uncle had so fondly spoke of when he was but a boy.

Bofur knew as well as any other who had seen others go through such hardship, that the horrors of this world can easily break the sturdiest of souls; all rocks eventually crumble whether it be from time, pressure or a relentless axe. The light that shines within fades until it takes merely a whisper to blow it out. Bifur’s light had faded behind his eyes and sorrow clouded his mind after the Battle of Azanulbizar. That cursed battle had left him in such a wretched state but, Bofur and Bombur had been there. They did not leave their cousin’s side; they held him when he learnt to walk again, they listened and encouraged him to talk and they watched over him in the nights when his mind was consumed by Battle-Dreams.

It was no secret that the golden haired Prince often found solace within his own mind, he had always been the one to use the gift of intelligence Mahal gave him to its full extent but, Bofur could easily recognise the same darkness lurking in Fíli as it had with Bifur. Amongst those he knew, those who had watched him grow and fought by his side, he was a shadow of his former self. There was a solemnness about him that shouldn’t exist in one so young. He refused to even confide in his own mother.

Although Kíli appeared to be in a similar state, his youthfulness still made him susceptible to his mother’s kind words and caring touches. She was the only one he would dare speak of about the love he had lost. Sometimes, he would even allow her to help when his battle wounds forced him to his knees. As explained by Oín many moons ago in a cramped, hot tent reeking of blood and death, Kíli’s wounds were hardly superficial.

In those dark days, Oín had informed Thorin that he should hope and pray for recovery but prepare to lose an heir and more importantly, a child. By the good Grace of Mahal, their youngest member survived but at a terrible cost; Kíli would never walk again. On that day, Thorin himself had gone to the Elven King’s tent asking for the Captain of the Guard however, Tauriel had not been seen since the Battle, her kin suspected her dead.

Kíli with his youthful vitality had taken the news of his injuries in his stride but when Thorin had come into his quarters and told him what was believed to have befallen the She-elf, his heart-breaking cries could be heard across the battlefield.

It was, perhaps, the death of the one he loved, that spurred Kíli to overcome his ailments. He would crawl in the beginning, on his hands and knees like a babe, defying the old healer’s warnings, determined that the spirit and optimism of youth would prevail. When the stark realisation that Oín was right finally sunk it, Kíli simply cried.

During those times, Fíli had not left his brother’s side. He was a constant presence and even went so far as to move a pile of furs from his chambers onto the floor beside Kíli’s bed. It was soon after that the darkness in Fíli’s mind festered from guilt; Kíli had sustained these injuries so that he might live. Kíli, hardly a stranger to his brother’s moods, noticed something was amiss but in his grief-ridden mind, did nothing. Slowly but surely, the brothers drifted apart until their conversations of conspiracy became strained greetings and the looks of mischief became a strangers’ glance.

The King appeared to be oblivious to the turmoil of those around him. Most of the Dwarves in the famous Company had not seen their King in months. This King, the same leader who had once bathed in the same river, taken his meals with and slept beside both those of Durin’s line and those who were not. The Dwarf who forged a kingdom with his bare hands and reclaimed the home they had lost, heralding a new age of peace and prosperity, had become a legend – perhaps more so than Durin himself.

He did, of course, what was expected of a King who had to rebuild a Kingdom but afterwards, when the sun slipped downwards in the sky, he would always retire quietly to his chambers and would not be seen until he was needed next. Not even Balin or the Lady Dís could coax Thorin from out of his quarters.

His extended periods of isolation had caused suspicion among the servants as well as the Lords and Ladies of the court. Rumour began to echo around the mountain; some said the King was suffering from the same gold-sickness that claimed his Father and Grandfather. Others suggested he had been cursed by the Elven King, Thranduil. The rumours were often fanned by the King’s appearances after his absence; Thorin Oakenshield stood tall, proud and impenetrable as ever but, there was something behind his eyes that suggested his soul was quite ready to enter the Halls of Mahal even if his mind was not.

However, it was not any gold-sickness or Elfish curse that drove the King to barricade himself in his chambers, it was Bilbo Baggins. The simple Hobbit from the Shire had stolen something far more precious to him than just the Arkenstone; he had stolen Thorin’s heart and, in doing so, left the King to a fate worse than death.   


~-~-~

 

Many, many moons ago, a contented and fairly naïve Hobbit had listened to Gandalf the Grey’s words with sickness in his stomach and something quite unexpected stirring in his heart. His life had always been a comfortable one; as a family the Bagginses had always been well-off and neither he nor his mother ever seemed to want for anything. It was a good existence but something in Bilbo wanted more.

He wanted to see Rivendell in all the beautiful splendor his mother had described it to be. His Mother. Bilbo knew exactly what his Took of a Mother would do if she were still alive. She’d have his travel bag packed in an instant! Dear Yavanna, she would be practically pushing him out of the door. “ _You’ve been moping around this gloomy smial for far too long, Bilbo!”_ He could practically hear her berate him. _“What you need is a good adventure! Go and see if you can catch some Elves for Mamma, it’ll save me going to Rivendell to ask what a this word in Sindarin means. Go! Shoo!”_

His father however…well, he was also a far harder Hobbit to understand; he loathed adventures and yet he married an adventuress. He was quite miserly with his money yet he built Bag End for Belladonna. What Bungo would make of all this business, he couldn’t begin to guess but, if there was one thing Bilbo learnt from his father, it was to do the right thing. _“Do not be afraid to live, my dear boy.”_ Was one of the last things Bungo said to him before he passed.

There was still one fear that Bilbo had and he realised it as he ran through Hobbiton, making quite a spectacle of himself. He feared the change that Gandalf warned him about. He feared the idea that he would look at old friends, gentle Hobbits who had known nothing but the peace and tranquility of the Shire and he would hate them for their ignorance. His parents had always said home was where the heart was and he feared that heart would belong somewhere other than the Shire.

Yet, all those past fears slipped from his mind as his tired eyes looked upon the rolling green hills and absently grazing ponies among the field of daisies. Tears of joy and relief welled up in his eyes as he gazed at the home he was sure he would never see again. The hard, leathered sole of his feet touched the lush green grass that he had run through as a Hobbitling, fighting imaginary monsters in wild adventures that only a child could conjure.

Speaking of young ones, Bilbo spotted a group them nestled among the ponies, their distinct laughter echoing in the light breeze as they played their games. The young lasses made daisy chains and braided their favourites into the ponies’ manes whilst the lads ran around the unimpressed girls and animals playing whatever silly game they imagined this time.

Their gentle smiles and joyous laughter caused the pain in Bilbo’s chest to loosen and he found himself doing something he had not done for many months; he smiled, openly and with great enthusiasm. Especially when he saw too familiar golden haired Hobbits snicker mischievously behind one of the larger ponies. Well aware of who they were and that no good could come from devious smiles like that, Bilbo spoke up, his voice far louder and more authoritative than it had ever been before. 

“Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck! What in Mahal’s name are you two up to this time?”

His unintentional use of the common Dwarven blasphemy caused his throat to tighten uncomfortably but it was soon forgotten as a group of startled eyes latched upon him instantly. Two Hobbitlings ran to him with the speed of a Dwarven attack and all but tackled him to the ground, whatever previous mischief they were up to now forgotten.

“Mister Bilbo! You’re alive!”

“You’ve come home!”

Which one said which greeting, Bilbo wasn’t entirely certain of but that didn’t stop him from laughing raucously at their enthusiasm and hugging them close as two pairs of arms wrapped around his neck.

“Yes, I’m home now!”

“Are you well, Mister Bilbo?” That was Meriadoc for certain. It was nice to see the boy had some manners in him.

“Yes, Master Merry. I am very well but I was much better before I was tackled by two young rascals!” At the slight reprimand, Merry looked somewhat bashful but Bilbo pulled the two small Hobbits closer to him. By now, practically all of the Hobbitlings had gathered around them and were listening intently.

“Was it dangerous? Did you see Goblins? Did you get in any fights? Have you got any scars? Are they _really big_?” A barrage of questions spouted from Pippin’s mouth at an astonishing speed and out of fear that the little one might pass out from lack of air if he continued (also not wanting to incur the wrath of Eglantine, Pippin’s mother) Bilbo shushed him gently.

“Hush! Breathe, Pippin, breathe. Come on, deep breathe in. Good lad. Now, I’ll answer all your questions in time but…I did in fact battle with a Goblin.” A ripple of gasps and squeals ran through his impromptu audience. “But…I’m not sure it’s an age appropriate story…”

Unbeknownst to those around him, Bilbo’s hand slipped from Pippin’s back and slid into his waistcoat pocket. There he found the comfort he was looking for; his only source of comfort during the long journey home. He certainly couldn’t tell them about that, it was hardly appropriate. It was his. _His_.

“Please tell us, Mister Bilbo!”

It felt as if Bilbo’s hand had been yanked from his pocket.

“Yes, please tell us!”

He shook his head as if shaking the thoughts from his mind.

“ _Pretty please_!”

His hand wrapped around Pippin’s small body again.

“We really want to know!”

He held him closer, if that were possible.

“Please, please, _please_!”

The desperate pleading and fluttered eyelids had won Bilbo over before it had begun but for pretense’s sake, he rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

“Alright! Goodness me! You lot certainly know how to win a Hobbit over! Born traders, the lot of you! Right, well, let me sit up first and I shall tell you the tale of how I met three very large, very scary and very _hungry_ mountain trolls.”

Unsurprisingly, Merry and Pippin were off him in a flash and little hands helped haul him up so he could begin his tale. His enthusiastic audience sat around him in a tight circle and as Bilbo began the story that was still so fresh in his mind and one that he was unlikely to ever forget. The looks of such wonder and pride from their faces warmed his smile and lightened his heart. Perhaps all would be well after all.

“…and that is how one defeats three trolls without using any weapons at all!” Just as Bilbo finished telling the story that was still so fresh in his mind, he spotted two figures making their way up the hill towards them. When Bilbo squinted he could make out a smaller figure pulling a much larger one along.

“C’mon Da! See! See! I told you! Mister Bilbo’s returned! Mister Bilbo’s come ‘ome!”

Bilbo smiled fondly as Hamfast Gamgee and little Samwise made their way towards the group.

“Well bless the Lady! Good day to you, Mister Baggins! I trust you fare well?” Hamfast greeted him warmly as Samwise bounced excitedly at his father’s leg.

“I certainly am now, Mister Gamgee.” Bilbo said, dryly.

The old Gaffer gave a bark of laughter before adding, “I’m sure you are. I’d wager a pretty penny you’re eager to see Bag End again?”

Bilbo’s smile faltered. “If it’s still there.” He had run out of his door without a hint of forward warning to any of his neighbours or any instruction to the Thain about who should inherit Bag End if he didn’t return so the possibility that Bag End was no longer in Bilbo’s possession was very real.

The Gaffer dismissed Bilbo’s fears with a wave of his hand. “’O course it’s still there, Mister Baggins! Ol’ Took wouldn’t let anyone go near it. In the beginning, he wouldn’t even let me tend the garden. Oh, and Bell’s been about dusting it since you’ve been away.”

A small laugh bubbled up from Bilbo’s throat; he was going to have to visit his Grandfather to thank him personally and buy Bell a hamper from the market. It was only then did Bilbo realise that the children were still present and he noticed that a very little Hobbit (Ponto…or was it Porto?) had fallen asleep and was dribbling quite happily on his shoulder.

“Alright, I’ve told you a story so now I think it’s time you go home. You don’t want to be late for dinner now do you? I’m sure your mothers have been working hard on it.” Bilbo gently lifted the sleeping Hobbitling from his shoulder and handed him to one of his siblings. A chorus of groans was the only reply he got as the whole lot of them remained stubbornly rooted to the ground. That was until Hamfast spoke up.

“Now, now. You heard Mister Baggins, go on ‘ome the lot of you.”

None of the Hobbitlings dared argue with Gaffer Gamgee so the little ones dashed across the fields like a swarm to tell their parents that Bilbo Baggins, Troll Slayer had come home. Meanwhile, Samwise stayed by his father as his friends walked past him, some poked their tongues out at him for spoiling their fun but Sam paid no heed. Instead, he peered at Bilbo from behind Gaffer’s leg bashfully.

“My, my! You have grown, Master Samwise!” Bilbo smiled down at the blushing Hobbit. “The last time I saw you, you were down there.” He gestured to his knees and was delighted when young Sam giggled.

Gaffer ruffled his son’s copper curls, “Our Sam has grown quite a bit since you’ve been away, Mister Baggins. Caught his mam unaware I can tell you! We can’t even get in him Hamson or Halfred’s old clothes but I’m sure Bell will tell all about that.” He then rifled in his pocket before turning to Samwise and handing him a key. “Be a good lad and go down to Bag End. Put the kettle on the stove for Mister Bilbo, he’ll be wanting a nice cup of tea when he gets in, I’m sure.”

Samwise nodded earnestly and clutched the key to his chest as if it were his most prized possession before scampering back down the hill. Once the mop of curls had disappeared out of sight, Hamfast turned to Bilbo and clapped him on the shoulder.

“It is very good to see you again, Mister Bilbo. For a long while, half the Shire didn’t think you’d be coming ‘ome but Bell and I knew otherwise. You’re too much your mother’s son for you not to come back. I’m not one for gossip, as you know, but Misses Lobelia Sackville Baggins has had her eye on Bag End for quite some time but Ol’ Took put ‘er in her place. Course she should settle down now you’re here.”

Bilbo hummed thoughtfully. “I wonder how long it took for Lobelia to realise I was gone.”

“Oh! It took ‘er less than an hour. Fifteen minutes after that she was down Bag End.” Hamfast snorted.

Bilbo chuckled gently at Lobelia’s antics, he had no doubt that what Hamfast said was true. In fact, he was almost insulted that it took Lobelia so long to realise he had gone.

“So, tell me, has much changed since I’ve been away?”

“’Bout as much as you’d expect really, if you’d like I’ll tell you about it on the way to Bag End. If you’d be wanting company, ‘o course.”

“I think I would rather enjoy company right now, Gaffer.” Bilbo stooped down to pick up his backpack before slinging it on his shoulder.

The two Hobbits started slowly down the field as Hamfast told Bilbo all that had happened in the year he had been away. Bilbo listened eagerly, it came as a welcome distraction from the dark thoughts that had clouded his mind of late. He also reveled in walk itself; it had been a long time since he walked freely among soft grass and at his own pace.

“Season’s been quite generous throughout the year. Winter hardly affected us. Been a fair few marriages in the Spring. One of them, if you can believe it, was between Primula Brandybuck and Drogo Baggins, I know Mister Fosco Baggins certainly couldn’t.”

“Gaffer, you’re talking to a son of a Took and a Baggins.”

Gaffer chuckled heartily. “That I am. Well, there’s also been a fair few arrivals this year. Bell blessed me with another one this year. A little girl.”

Bilbo took Hamfast’s hand and shook it heartily. “Oh congratulations, Gaffer! That is wonderful news! Have you named her yet?”

“Oh well…” Hamfast blushed somewhat. “I was wantin’ to name her after her mother but Bell wasn’t having any of it so, we decided on Marigold since that was the flowers I was tending when the little un’ decided to arrive. Beautiful flowers they were…and in your garden too!”

“Well that is an honour but I’m not sure my Marigolds deserve such high praise! Tell me, is there anything I can get for you? Well, I mean the baby, but you know…I don’t mean to insinuate that you would need anything I just…” Bilbo trailed off awkwardly when he realised how much it was sounding like he was offering charity. Hamfast Gamgee was a proud, honest working Hobbit and would never willingly accepted charity in his life. Thankfully, to Bilbo’s great relief, Hamfast merely laughed and patted his shoulder.

“I thank you, Mister Bilbo but, it’s quite alright…both Marigold and Bell have been showered with gifts of late and I think the best gift you could give would be to accept an invitation to our Hamson’s birthday party. He’ll be coming of age this year and we’d very much like to see you there. Maybe you could tell us some more about your great adventure.”

“I would be honoured to attend, Gaffer but I wouldn’t want to overshadow your son’s day.”

“Nonsense, Mister Bilbo.” Gaffer waved his hand, dismissing Bilbo’s worries. “Hamson wants it to be as memorable as possible and what could be more memorable than having a Troll Slayer at a party? After all, by next Spring our Hamson will be making his home in Tighfield.”

“Tighfield? Goodness, that’s a bit far out, isn’t it?”

“It’s alright, Hamson’s going to be staying with my brother, Andwise. There’s not much round ‘ere in the way of gardening work so he’s going to take his chances there.”

“I wasn’t aware you had family in Tighfield, Gaffer?” Bilbo asked, genuinely curious as to his old gardener’s background. It was rare that Hamfast ever really divulged any information about his youth so Bilbo knew shamefully little.

“Oh yes,” Hamfast replied rather wistfully. “Born and bred, been a home of us Gamgees and more for hundreds of years. You could say that Hamson’s goin’ back to his roots.”

A small smile played on Bilbo’s lips, although it was not forced, the smile felt somewhat strange on Bilbo’s face. For some time the two Hobbits ambled along in amiable silence, simply contented with each other’s company. As they passed through the long grass fields that surrounded Hobbiton, Gaffer finally spoke again whilst casting his keen gardener’s eyes at the greenery around them.

“Well, Mister Bilbo, if you don’t mind me saying so, I’m quite surprised your dwarf companions aren’t escorting you home. After all, it must have been quite a journey if you were gone nearly eighteen months.”

“They hardly need to walk me to my front door as if I were a tween, Mister Gamgee.” Bilbo retorted rather coldly. He had prickled at Hamfast’s words both at their context and the way in which he said it. Once he took a few deep breaths to calm down, Bilbo silently berated himself for his quick temper. If Hamfast thought something was amiss before, now he would see it as a certainty.

“So they did escort you home?” Hamfast paid no heed to Bilbo’s earlier outburst. When Bilbo didn’t answer, the old Gaffer sighed before looking thoughtfully at the younger Hobbit.

“It’s a dangerous world out there, Mr. Bilbo.” Gamgee finally said. “A terrifying, dangerous, dark place –”

“If any other creature on Middle-earth were to know that truth better than I, I implore you to bring them to me.” Bilbo stopped dead in his tracks as anger flared from the pit of his stomach. What did a simple gardener know about the world?

_“That’s right. You know nothing of the world!”_

The memory hit Bilbo like a rock, almost barreling him over; how angry his voice was, how stiff his posture, how he marched away, how he smelled of tobacco and leather. The vividness brought tears to his eyes and caused a lump to form in his throat.

Unbeknownst to Bilbo, Hamfast Gamgee watched his reactions with interest. When he saw Bilbo’s eyes twitch in distress, Gaffer’s expression softened. Ignoring the rules of propriety, he reached out and placed his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder in the same way he would do for his sons.

“I don’t doubt that, Mister Bilbo, not for one second. What I mean to ask is, what did you lose? I’m asking you as a friend of your father’s, may he be at peace, because I’ve seen those who’ve lost and it’s like they’ve lost a piece of themselves. I haven’t seen that look in your eye since your parents passed on.”

Bilbo looked at Hamfast through tired eyes and suddenly found himself wishing for his parents to be beside him. It was the kind of selfish longing that makes you feel every heartbeat in your chest. If he were a child, Bilbo knew he would’ve started to wail but as a Gentlehobbit who had the rules of propriety drilled firmly into him, he remained rooted to the ground and seemingly expressionless.

After all, what could he say to Hamfast Gamgee, formally loyal friend to Bungo Baggins and Gardener of Bag End? There was no conceivable way he could tell dear old Gaffer precisely what had occurred on his adventure. How friendship and loyalty had morphed into…into something more and how that had been promptly destroyed by madness and fear. He could never convey all that he had truly lost to someone who could never understand.

So instead, Bilbo smiled weakly and murmured, “I had no idea a man who handled potatoes for a living could be so knowledgeable.”

For a moment Gaffer didn’t react and Bilbo was just about to apologise for his rudeness when Hamfast’s hand slipped from his shoulder and he began to mutter as if Bilbo was no longer present.

“Then it is worse than I thought.” Hamfast then turned his attention back to Bilbo, a grim look in his eyes. “Mister Bilbo, you may have seen things that I could never even begin to imagine, not even in my wildest dreams! But, the fact remains, cabbages and roses are better suited to you and me. We’re Shire folk; simple, honest Shire folk, who don’t do adventures or danger.  And, you’ve gone and got yourself mixed up in trouble way too big for you. Now, can you promise me that the trouble you’ve landed yourself in won’t be coming aback and taking us all in with you?”

Silence weighed heavily on them as Bilbo pondered over what Hamfast just said. He knew Hamfast spoke as a husband and a father; his only concern the safety of his wife and children. So, out of respect for his father’s old friend, Bilbo thought back to his adventure and the perils in which he faced; Azog the Defiler had been defeated, the mountain trolls turned to stone, the Great Dragon was nothing more than a rotting carcass and the Goblins had no King in the Misty Mountains they called home.

The Dwarves, he realised, might become a threat if they decided they wanted revenge on the Traitor of Erebor but, something in his mind told him he had little to fear. With great solemnness, Bilbo finally answered Hamfast.

“I give you my word that whatever trouble I found myself in will not be following me home, Gaffer. We are perfectly safe here.” He answered truthfully. 

Hamfast almost visibly deflated as he sighed with relief. “Thank you, Mister Bilbo. I am sorry for asking but, I had to know.”

“That’s quite alright, Gaffer.” Whatever irritation he had previously felt at the old Gardener seemed to melt away, leaving a slight sense of guilt bubbling in its wake. “If I were in your position I would be asking similar questions. Now, I must ask one of you, if that’s alright?”

“’O course. Please ask away!” He exclaimed, clearly curious as to what the younger Hobbit’s question could be.

“Well, Mister Gamgee I was wondering if you would like to join me for a cup of tea and perhaps some scones…if I have any.”

“It would be my pleasure, Mister Baggins!” Gaffer cried, grinning broadly.

The unintentional tension that had built up during the two Hobbits’ conversation felt as if it had been lifted up to the clouds leaving a sense of amiability once more. The two Hobbits continued their walk to Bag End and Bilbo took a few deep, calming breathes, steeling himself for the unavoidable roads through Hobbiton. As they finally entered Hobbiton, Bilbo found himself immensely grateful for the comforting hand quietly placed on his shoulder.

Bilbo Baggins wasn’t welcomed back to the Shire with open arms and in all honesty, Bilbo wasn’t deluded enough to think he would be. However, he didn’t think the stern glares of disapproval would hurt him the way they did. For weeks after his arrival, very few Hobbits would even look at Bilbo, let alone have a conversation with him. Whenever the Hobbitlings would try to run to him, their parents would stop them in their tracks and warn them never to go near Mad Bilbo Baggins.

The only Hobbits who would freely associate themselves with Bilbo were Old Gaffer and Primula; Hamfast Gamgee continued to work on Bag End’s garden as he had always done and Primula was simply fascinated by Bilbo’s adventure and in her defiant Brandybuck nature, didn’t give a fig what anyone else thought. The only other Hobbit who treated him in a similar manner as they had done before Bilbo went on his adventure was Lobelia and she had always loathed his very existence.

Weeks turned into months and the Hobbitlings grew so curious about Mad Bilbo Baggins that they openly defied their parents’ wishes until the haggard parents of Hobbiton finally caved in. Perhaps Bilbo Baggins hadn’t changed _greatly._ He was still a Gentlehobbit after all and Yavanna knows they can be rather _eccentric_ in their ways. His great, great great, great Uncle Bullroarer Took killed the Goblin King!

Slowly but surely, Hobbiton began to respect Bilbo Baggins once more. The tales of Mad Baggins even reached as far as Frogmorton and Bilbo soon found himself becoming quite a famous Hobbit indeed!

Two summers later Primula and Drogo celebrated the arrival of their first child; Frodo Baggins was born on a cool, clear autumn morning in September weighing a healthy five pounds and six ounces. He was every inch his Father’s son in looks and his Mother’s son in mind. The family had a wonderful and joyous eight years together before a tragic accident in the Brandywine River left a very young and bereft Frodo orphaned.

When the Thain had asked both families if anyone would be willing to take the boy in, Bilbo’s voice had risen high than the rest. If there was one thing Bilbo Baggins understood it was loneliness and he refused to allow to suffer in the same way he had; to feel lonely when you are never in fact alone.

As was to be expected of a child who had just lost his parents, Frodo was somewhat subdued when he first entered the great smial that was Bag End. The boy would tiptoe through the halls, quieter than a mouse and never raise his voice above a whisper. But, the bright allure of discovery and the resilience of youth quickly won out. Frodo opened his heart to his Uncle Bilbo just as Bilbo had opened his home to him and soon Frodo was every inch the mucky, boisterous, energetic Hobbit lad that he was supposed to be.

Everyday Bilbo would thank the Green Lady for Frodo because as the boy had healed, so did he. Bag End was built with a loving family in mind, not a lonely old Hobbit surrounded by his books. With Frodo, the halls of Bag End were no longer eerily silent. He had given not only the smial but also Bilbo a new lease of life. With the constant, demanding love that Frodo gave him and that he returned, Bilbo no longer found himself thinking of _those_ days because Frodo gave him peace.

That is, of course, until Gandalf the Grey once again decided to make a wholly unexpected and quite unexplained appearance.


End file.
